Indiana Jones and the Scepter of AmonRa
by VirginiaSnap
Summary: Post-TLC/ Pre-KOTCS "Think, Dr. Jones, the Power of the Ancient World..." was what she told him and now Jones is back hes got to stop the mystical scepter of Amon-Ra from falling into the hands of the Nazis.
1. A Chance Meeting

Hey Guys, Its Euro again and this time Ive come back with another Indiana Jones story  
this time it is set in late 1938 roughly six months from the Last Crusade and the Holy Grail incident.

This story is a joint effor between me (Euro) and my friend Indy (indianakat.)  
Mandy is her character, she may seem rude in this chapter but giver her a chance to develop more. Two characters which will come in later are mine. There are also two bad guys, one is hers and one is mine, they will come in later as well -woot- so wait in anticipation.

And just and FYI, this is _NOT_ the same scepter/staff that appeared in Raiders of the Lost Ark. This is a different one.

**Indiana Jones and the Scepter of Amon-Ra**

**Chapter 1**

**A Chance Meeting**

The Posh French Restaurant was alive with activity in the early hours of the evening. Night had just fallen over the great city of Paris and every light twinkled like stars in the navy blue sky. The noise, the cabarets, the people, everything seemed to be better after dark in Paris. Every person on the street took on a new life at night, it was if the maker had bestowed upon them some strange dynamic spirit that invigorated them and lifted them from the ho-hum of the daily workings. The lights upon the French city's most famous landmark glowed brightly in the night. The lights from the city easily overpowered the starts that would have been shining over head, but had now become invisible to anyone who was drowned in the pinkish-hue of the city. It was intoxicating. Someone who was not native to city was easily swept up in its amazing nightlife and would not be willing to go back from it.

The restaurant's architecture spoke of the neo-classical baroque age which was long passed and forgotten. Spindly, white marble pillars grew into intricately carved flying buttresses which supported a large over hang that protected an outside seating area. It was lit with lamps that had, at one time, been gas driven, but now had been re-wired so as to fit the electric light-bulb. The tables were mostly for parties of two or three and were covered with a silk table cloth of white and than another one in a very pale pink; the placemats were knitted from lace and held beautiful embroidered twisting borders of roses and carnations. A red carpet lead to the glass doors which opened to the inside of the restaurant.

Within the building, the roof soared above those who entered through the glass doors. Everything was white, the walls, the floors, the tablecloths. The marble on the floor was polished to high sheen and reflected the large chandelier's glowing light upon its face. The crystal sequins dripped down from the lighting fixture and broke the white light into a million different colors like a prism. It appeared as though not a single smidgeon of dirt was to be found anywhere within this building premise and it was as though anyone who dared to even think about tipping their glass over was to be evicted. Everything was immaculate, the intricately designed silver ware and the hand crafted crystal glasses were spotless. The napkins of a pale burgundy color were folded in such a way that if one tilted their head at the correct angle they would look like swans.

The room was huge. About three-fourths of the place was set up with tables and the left over space was left open, clearly welcoming the couples and groups to come dancing to the band which was situated in a corner. About seven musicians in pristine looking tuxedos played a soft waltz on their instruments. The couples were spaced almost evenly around the seating part of the building and were enjoying various wines and champagnes from just about every corner of the European continent. A few waiters loitered around talking orders, but most of them prowled around the edges of the tables, watching and inspecting the individuals who happened to be dinning in the restaurant. Everyone there was dressed to the occasion, including a middle-aged man seated near one of the side-wall windows.

Thick, circular glasses rested upon the bridge of his nose; his gray eyes were quickly looking over the text of a small navy book which he held in his hand. Dark-brown hair was smoothed down close to his head and reflected the sheen of the light in it. He wore a clean, deep-gray tux with a white dress shirt underneath it and a red tie that was tucked neatly under the dress jacket. Placing the book down for a moment he carefully picked up the wine glass on the table and lifted it to his lips. He took a sip and the replaced the glass back to its original position. His fingers reached for the book once more, but his attention was draw for a moment to the figure who sat across from him.

"You okay, Kid?" he asked as he raised an eyebrow.

The figure's head had been resting upon its arms which were folded across the table. Long, black cascaded down its back making it quite obvious that this figure was feminine. She lifted her eyes so that she could see the man. Her skin was of a light olive color and was complimented quite nicely by the sleek black dress of which she wore. The gown had trails of diamond-like sparkles creating designs all the way across its front and back. Her eyes were of a rich, warm brown color and could be compared to the color of warm honey. It was quite obvious, even when she was sitting down, that she was short; her small frame and stature were quite apparent and made her appear as though she was about thirteen years of age. That, however, was not true for she was old enough to drink for she balanced a half-empty wine glass in her hand.

"I'm fine…" she said as she raised herself and sat back in the chair, her voice was soft and showed that she was, in fact, still young.

Accepting this statement the man went back to reading. The girl merely cast around a few glances at the others who were in the restaurant with them. Most were speaking quickly in French and she was in no way well acquainted with the language. The other couples held an air of snobby-ness around them; she made an odd stair at the couple across the room from them. Both the man and the girl had been summoned here by an unfamiliar acquaintance for reason that neither of them really knew. The man had past his time reading, but the girl was quickly starting to grow bored.

"Dr. Jones." She spoke. There was no reply from the man. The girl gave his a disgruntled face, "Indy!" came a louder call, trying to bring the man's mind away from the book of which he seemed so engrossed in.

"uhm…" he grunted as he looked over the rim of his spectacles to the seat opposite him.

"So, who exactly is this person that we are supposed to meet here?" she asked as she ran her finger around the rim of the crystal glass, trying to make it ring. She had been told that it would happen so many times before and now she was going to try it herself.

The man checked his watch and then gave a shrug as he put the book down, "We'll have to wait and see."

The girl stopped fiddling with the glass and re-crossed her arms in front of her. This had been the third time that Dr. Jones had asked her to accompany him on one of his voyages around the world all for the sake of archeology and this was starting to become on of the dullest ones yet. She paused in thought. She had managed to meet Dr. Jones in one of those museum exhibit openings and they had found that their mutual like for adventure and discovery had been quite an impressive conversation starter.

The man she sat with was none other than the great Indiana Jones, but he looked so far removed now in his tux and glasses than when he did in his fedora, wielding the ever famous whip. His eyes no longer were scanning the pages of the book; instead they had been drawn to staring off into the empty night sky that was visible through the window. The girl turned back to her dinner plate cutting a bit of the medium-done steak that was left on her plate, slowly placing it her in her mouth as she looked up at Indiana.

"Have a lot on your mind, Doctor?" the girl tilted her head to one side.

"Absolutely nothing at all, Mandy…" Jones said, never moving his gaze away from the glass panes.

As a silence fell around them the tail end of the most recent song the band was playing came to its conclusion. The silence was filled with the clatter of plates, silverware and trays as the waiters took this moment to move quickly through the maze of tables to clear away any dishes that might have been forgotten. Even though they all were of different height, body type and hair color, all the waiters wore the exact same stuffy expression; one as though their noses had just caught the scent of something foul. Mandy had to practically fight off one of the men from taking her plate before she was finished with it. Dr. Jones watched with amusement as the girl tried to explain to a _French_ waiter in _English_ that she was not done eating. In the corner, the conductor of the band raised his arms, they would soon be continuing with their musical review. The man gave one sweep of his baton and the band started off on a fast waltz.

The couples were once again were waltzing within the great marble expanse in the center of the restaurant. New ones joined in, others left to rest from their dancing endeavors and the get themselves drinks of the wet bar. The tender running it was trying all within his power to keep everyone that was ordering from him satisfied. Indiana Jones went back to the book in his hands. He was not much of a dancer therefore he had no reason to go looking for a partner. Mandy, on the other hand, was more engrossed with her _Coq au vin_ than actually getting up to join the waltzing pairs behind her. The bespectacled man's attention fully returned to the words and phrases on the paper. Latin and Greek symbols, even a dash of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs were scrawled across the pages. It was obvious he could read them for her turned the pages with ease, as any normal person would do for a regular novel. Sadly, Jones' enthrallment with what he was reading let one small detail of the place, one tiny feature of the grand environment, slide past him. There was a presence that was about to take the American professor on a trip to the past.

It was there, in the chair that was seated with its back toward Jones, there was where fate was about to play an unfriendly trick upon both Indiana and its inhabitant. Normally, the fact that someone was seated in the vicinity around him did not bother him. Why should it? He had nothing to fear. It had been Six Months since the grail incident, and Jones had attempted to keep himself out of trouble with foreign governments. He had already had a close enough brush with death and he was not to willing to repeat it. The chair. It was not one the belonged to the restaurant for it was not made of the familiar handcrafted, meticulously cut, white polished wood with velveteen maroon cushioning. This one was dark, made out of a deep, honey-color wood cut far from the French city of Paris. The most distinguishing feature was the fact that it had no legs. Instead, it processed deep gray steel-framed wheels that were welded to the seat by huge iron bolts. The person who occupied it was there by an affliction that was not easily forgotten, on the maimed him and forever confined him and his useless legs to a lifetime of movement by man made wheels. A harsh voice came from the chair; it spoke in English, but it was heavily laden with a deeply embedded Germanic accent.

"Ve meet again Doktor Jones…"

The professor's head lifted from the book as his eyebrows knitted in confusion. He looked to the girl seated across from him. "Did you say somethin', Kid?" He asked.

Mandy looked back at him, her mouth stuffed with food. The harsh words had obviously not come from her for she probably would have choked had she tried to even attempt to say anything. The girl gave her head a shake in disagreement to Indiana's inquiry. She then gave her hand a flick as she gestured toward the back of the wheelchair which had its back toward the American and was parked, solitary, at the table behind him. Indiana turned around his chair as he placed the brown book he had been reading on his placemat; the voice had sounded familiar, almost too familiar. He caught sight of fair skin and blonde hair that was starting to go gray around the edges from age. The professor squinted, this man was _very_ familiar but Indiana could not place the face. Then suddenly, it hit him, his blue gray eyes widened.

"V-Vogel?" the name tumbled from the American's mouth in shock.

He thought he was dead; he had seen him go over the cliff in a tank and had seen the machine shatter around Vogel upon the sharp rocks at the bottom of the ravine. There was no way that anyone could have survived that, but yet here the German was, staring him down almost six months from the incident. The American swallowed hard, the last thing that he wanted was to start a fight with one of his most hated adversaries, and it was obvious that Vogel would give what little he had to win the chance to kill Jones right then and there. The air around them grew tense as old memories flooded into his mind.

The German spun his wheelchair around to face the professor fully and so that Indiana could see the full extent of what he had done to the Colonel. The entire left half of Vogel's face was horridly disfigured; scars ran rampant all over his countenance. What made it worse was that one of the largest one that ran fully from his hairline, over his eye and ended just a few millimeters over his upper lip appeared as though one of the worst doctors in the world had attempted to sew the lesion close but had failed miserably. The image that Jones remembered of the colonel looked nothing like that man in front of him; the German was now a ghost of his former self. The face had grown gaunt and the cheekbones had become much more defined giving the colonel a look as though lady fortune had not been kind to him. Vogel's eyes had started to recede into their sockets only enhancing his new skeletal appearance; dark circles hung themselves under his once steely-blue optics. Out of the corner of his eye, Indiana could see Mandy cringe with disgust across fro him. She had stories from Jones about Vogel along with ones about Toht and Belloq, but none of them had ever come back to haunt him, not until now. The German must have felt them starting at him for he gestured at the American.

"I haff jou to sank foor zis…" he said icily.

However, the words he spoke were paid no heed to as both Jones's and Mandy's eyes were drawn to the left hand that he brandished in their direction. What once had been a perfectly good hand was replaced by nothing more than a three-pronged metal fake. Vogel saw what he had done and what they were staring at and quickly withdrew his hand and tried to hide it by pulling the sleeve of his gray suit over it.

"Yes we do, though you are a lot different then when we last met," Indiana said, quickly trying to regain some of his composure.

"I've heard a lot about you sir…" she commented in a snide tone. Jones's body twitched, Mandy had a naturally sharp tongue and seemed to have nothing within her brain that told her how to regulate it and her side comments. Indiana was not looking for a fight, but if the girl got too involved with the conversation it might end up that way. He could tell that Vogel's fuse was short. He gave her a glance that clearly told her to watch her mouth and what she said.

"How the hell did you survive the crash, Colonel?" The American asked.

"Not 'colonel' anymore" Vogel said, his voice dagger sharp. "_Nein_, no longer 'colonel'."

Indiana's eyes locked with the Germans as they waged a silent war with each other, neither of them wanted to be the first one to blink for that would prove the other to be the victor.

Mandy shifted in her seat, "You want to answer to question, Mr. Vogel?" she inquired

The former colonel tore his eyes from the American and turned his cold gaze upon his girlfriend. As if hating Jones wasn't enough he was getting very negative connotations from her as well and was already starting to develop a strong distaste for her.

"How did I survive?" he repeated, his voice faltered before he answered. It appeared as though even Vogel did not know how he had managed to come out of that desert alive after the fall from the cliff. "By a stroke off fate…" he finally decided was the correct answer.

The girl's eyes narrowed. She seemed to have a third sense to tell when she was getting on people's nerves. However, she herself was starting to develop an even stronger dislike for this man who had threatened Dr. Jones's life all those months ago and now she was going to get her two bits worth in to the conversation. She felt that she had an obligation to the professor to help defend him against the man in the wheelchair. Indiana raised an eyebrow at the German's answer. He was not one to believe in fate, but he did believe in chance and luck for they had helped him through many situations before.

"So it seems," The professor said

The girl across from him quickly chimed in, "Perhaps it wasn't 'fate', more like 'dumb luck'?" Her tone of voice was coy. It was obvious that she was trying different methods of getting Vogel's goat.

The former colonel's features clouded over even darker than they had been before. It was lucky for both Jones and Mandy that they were where they were, at any other place the German and American would have already been fighting. However, both men knew that if either of their fists collided with anything they both risked being thrown out. The girl observed the next few minutes of silence as a person observing which horse they would bet on did. She was analyzing the playing field as the tension heightened between the two hated enemies. They both looked as though in any moment they were going to jump out of theirs chairs and starting beating each other up. Well, Mandy couldn't exactly see Vogel 'leaping' out of his chair.

"So what happed after this stoke of _fate_?" Jones questioned.

"Vhat happened aftervord iz none off jour concern, _Herr_ Jones…" Vogel snapped as he waved his pronged hand threateningly in the two American's direction.

The hand looked quite disturbing to someone who was not used to seeing the gleaming metal object, it did, however, look as though it might do some serious damage if it ever came into contact with someone's flesh and bone. Indiana got the connection that if he ever was to get into a fight with Vogel, he might be the one at the disadvantage for it appeared as though the German might use that as his weapon of choice. Slowly, so as not to make it too obvious, the American was starting to slide his chair in toward their table, just in case anything happened, he would be out of range of the first blow.

"I vill say zat dragging vonself around ze desert foor three days, begging foor death, causes a lot off changes in a man…" Vogel's grave tone trailed off as his eyes glazed over. It was clear that his mind was returning to the painful days that followed the crash all those months ago.

Indy could not help himself, he snorted at what the German said, "Please, Vogel, people don't change…"

Mandy raised her hand as if she was asking to be called in. "May I say something?" she interjected. The girl knew she was getting the German angry, but she continued anyway. "So tell me, now that you're no longer in the army and no longer a colonel there's nothing to live for is there?" Before either of her companions could speak she pressed on with her question, "After surviving the fall and having to look like that, what else have you got… other than getting your revenge upon Dr. Jones…" The girl than wrinkled her nose in disgust. "But you failed once already, Vogel. Do you really think you have one more chance, under these conditions?"

The German gritted his teeth; this situation was starting to go down hill slowly. He still had fight left in him; even if it was not as physical as it would have been had he not bore the wounds of the fall. Now, as well as waging a silent war with Jones, he was engaging in a battle of words with the female. What words they were, if anyone had spoken to him like that before the crash they would have been awarded with bullets in the back of their head. Within Vogel's own mind he still was a colonel and was not to be spoken down to from the lower ranks, and was not to be spoken down to by a woman he hardly knew.

"I am still here because I fear death… und zat should be sufficient enough answer foor jou…" The former colonel growled.

He glared at the girl who was quickly climbing her way up Vogel's list of Hated individuals. If she kept this up she might find herself right along side Dr. Jones. Everything that she said was discrimination toward him and his predicament.

"Well think of this, Indy…" Mandy had turned her attention back to Jones who had become the unofficial regulator of the conversation. The professor made a noise to show that he was listening to what she had to say: "Well at least time when you fight him he won't be much of a _threat_." A tricky smile wound across her face as she shrugged a single shoulder. Before Jones could say anything in agreement or disagreement, Mandy continued: "Answer me this question, _SS_ Colonel Vogel, if you are now paralyzed from the waist down, aren't you useless to those guys?"

The American was surprised by her question. There was some truth behind it, but it did seem a little too bold, even for the situation in which the two found themselves. Indiana was slowly watching Vogel's temper flare up and the already short fuse getting shorter. It was only a matter of time before the ticking bomb went off and no one could tell what the damage was going to be. The German looked as though he had just been punched in the face for the red color that had started to rise in his face in an instant was gone. One thing that infuriated the colonel more than being spoken down to by subordinates was being called useless. His eyes just glared at the girl, but he could do nothing more because he would have to go through Jones first. Indiana felt his body tense as he sensed that Vogel was contemplating attacking.

"I am not useless…" The German said as his single good hand held and iron-grip upon the arm of the wheelchair.

Instead of fighting, he decided that it was better to take the _fraulein_'s words and shove them back in her own face. He was going to prove her wrong, how he was going to prove her wrong. Dr. Jones watched as the former colonel's hand locked around the wheelchair, perhaps he was imagining that, instead of the chair, it was around Mandy's neck. Indiana's wondering was proven wrong when he noticed that Vogel had pulled himself forward in the chair, was he going to try something? He felt his hand clench, ready to fight if the time called for it. But, Jones's prediction was incorrect when he realized that the German was attempting to _stand up_. Mandy held her tongue as her attention was drawn to the blonde-haired man who had managed to push himself up from the chair. The sound of metal split the air as both the professor and the girl became aware of the fact that the German was wearing leg-braces.

Vogel grimaced as he planted his metal bound legs firmly on the floor; he knew from former experience that he could not rise for long periods of time. When he straightened, hot turrets of pain flashed down his back and into his legs causing a surprised gasp to fall from his mouth. His breathing had sped up audibly as his battered body stood defiant for those few precious seconds. The three had come to a turning point in their conversation and dealings with each other, for both Jones and Mandy threw each other strange glances whose expression could not be read by the German.

"Not useless…" The former colonel repeated to the girl.

Suddenly, there came the sound of a snap and the screech of creaking metal and Vogel fell back down into the wheelchair. It was clearly noticeable that his legs were shuddering violently in their braces. The German was panting in his effort, a gleam of defiant triumph shone in his cold blue eyes. He had proved his point and now all he had to wait for was a response from Jones's friend. His moment of conquest was shattered by what Mandy had to say next to her newfound foe.

"He can stand…" she comment, a hint of slight sarcasm apparent in her voice. She placed her chin in her hands as she continued, "maybe now he can leave you be, Dr. Jones."

Indiana shrugged. "Maybe so, Kid."

After that, Vogel silently cursed himself for being so intent that the mere action of standing up was going to settle his account with the American and his new hatred of the American's girl friend.

"So, Vogel, what are you doin' around here?" Jones asked.

"Hiding froom ze government," the former colonel answered the professor. He came to the conclusion that the simple answer would have to suffice for he knew that after he was going to be jumped for more by his two opponents. He felt like he was going through an interrogation room.

"What did you do this time?" Mandy asked. She was well aware that she was playing with fire, but she did not account for such a heated response. But, instead of backing down, she decided to level the playing field. The German looked as though at any moment he was going to snap, but the girl made sure that he was not going to hurt Dr. Jones. She was angry, but she was not going to make her emotion apparent. Nonchalantly she rose from the chair in which she was seated. If she was ever going to get Vogel out of Jones hair, this would be the one time that she could do it.

"Nozing…" The blonde-haired man persisted.

"Are you afraid of the government?" Mandy cut him off. "I'm sure the all the men back in Germany must feel like complete morons for having such a useless and pathetic colonel," She paused for a moment to take in a breath before she continued, "one who was beaten by one man and then thrown off a cliff." The girl leaned forward, "What was it like going back? Did they laugh at you or did they just wonder who the heck you were?" She tilted her head as though she was being serious about the questions. In truth, she was not, but it would be far more interesting to see what would happen now.

All hell broke loose in an instant; the storm had come and finally opened up its fury. Through out the entire monologue by the girl Vogel's face had grown beet red and his left eye had slowly started twitching as he tried to hold in his anger. Now he could not control himself any more. In a matter of seconds he had thrown himself from the chair straight at Mandy in a whirlwind of uncontrolled rage. Jones had expected this to happen, with almost superhuman speed, he pushed forward and stepped right between Vogel and Mandy. The two men collided and struck the table causing crystal glasses and delicate silverware to go flying in all directions. It seemed, in that instant, that everything happening at the restaurant froze as all attention was turned to the commotion that had erupted at the table near the window. People around them jumped away in shock that anyone had the gall to ruin the sublime atmosphere in the restaurant. Some women broke composure and screamed in surprise as though a mouse had gotten loose under their feet.

Indiana was easily knocked off balance and driven to the ground by Vogel's weight. Mandy was on her feet, but there was nothing more that she could do because it was not her fight to interfere with. Jones tried to get up, but he felt a single hand wrap around his neck and the burn of cold steel. The former colonel had latched himself to the American's neck and he showed no sighs of letting go. The professor tried to break free of the deadly grasp but could not; he tried to solve his problem by letting a punch fly in the German's direction. He heard a sickening crack; it had collided with Vogel's jaw. Indiana heard Vogel gasp in surprise and shock at what had just happed, the grip loosened around his neck and Jones was able to break free from the German's grasp.

Jones only managed to get the upper hand in the fight a few seconds as the former colonel quickly recovered and took a flying swing at Indiana's head with his fake –hand. If the American had been a few seconds slower he would have risked receiving a nasty wound to his skull, but luckily he saw the glimmer of steel out of the corner of his eye. With the reflexes of a cat, Jones managed to grab Vogel's wayward arm and halt it before any damage was done. He managed to get himself into a position where he could twist the arm behind his opponents back and that is exactly what he did. Using his weight, the professor pinned Vogel to the ground, rendering the German beaten. Jones let go of the breath that he had been holding, that had to be one of the quickest and cleanest fights he had ever gotten into. The former colonel flailed around trying to get loose. The American was having none of it, so to keep his opponent restrained even more he drove his knee into the small of Vogel's back.

Hot turrets of pain shot down the blonde-haired man's back. Before he could stifle it a shriek of hurt tumbled from his mouth. Adrenaline and more fiery rage flooded into his system seemingly to give him a newfound reserve of strength. The sound alerted Jones, but the next thing that he knew was that the once 'beaten' Vogel's hands were, again, wrapped around his neck. Jones suddenly found himself to be the one on the ground for the German had dragged him down and managed to pull himself over the American and was using his body and his elbows to keep Indiana's arms from moving. The professor couldn't breathe, he gasped for breath as he tried to use his legs to get free, but the only thing he managed to do was slide forward on the ground a bit. He gasped and sputtered as he was desperately trying to wriggle one arm free from under the former colonel's body.

Abruptly, Jones felt the weight lift off his chest and he could freely move his arms. Indiana quickly caught a glimpse of two very burly looking waiters pulling the snarling Vogel off of him. The German's arms still thrashed about as he tried to get away and finished the American off. His legs however, were useless in his struggle. Once again, the former Colonel had lost his chance to kill Jones at the hands of circumstance. Vogel was breathing hard, his face was red with anger as he was dragged toward the resteraunts back door to be evicted from the premise. Before he got pulled out of sight, he managed to shout something at Indiana: "_Ich töte Sie, Dr. Jones_," venom and hatred apparent in every word, "_Wenn sein die letzte sache ich_!" And with that, he was gone; the waiters had left his wheelchair at the table.


	2. Enter the Scepter

Hello people, Im back with a chapter update -flails-  
nothing much more to say really except I swear Im using the wrong tense of 'to wait' when the waiter says it xX  
I failed so much at that section in French III

- _**Euro**_

* * *

**Chapter 2  
****Enter the Scepter**

The Night wind blew cold wind as the fair skinned woman walked up to the entrance of the restaurant. At the base of one of the pillars that lined the entry way, and holding up the upper floor, stood a dark wood podium. A rather stuffy looking waiter stood, he watched her approach down the bridge of his overly large nose. She wore a lavender colored dress that sparkled and shimmered with every step she took and with every sway of her hips. It showed her svelte curves off quite nicely. The woman's hair was of a bright red color and she processed a pair of dazzling green eyes. Her nose curved softly down the gentle oval of her façade. The bun on the back of her head in which her hair had been bundled into let loose a few strands which fell across her face.

The waiter's expression seemed to grow more annoyed as the woman walked up to the podium. "Nom?" he huffed in a pompous tone.

The lady gave him a small smile exposing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth. "Beatrice Rousseau…" She said in a soft voice with a tad of nasal twang to it.

The head waiter scuffled around the papers that were on the podium, he looked up after he seemed to find which one he was looking for. "Je suis desolee, Ton table n'est pas prepare. Est-ce que Tu anttendait, sil-te plait?"

The woman tilted her head and after a short pause she said "D'accord." The waiter gave her a curt not and then retreated back into the restaurant. Beatrice let her eyes wander over the intricate lines that were carved into the marble pillars. How long had it taken the architect and workers to complete that?

She slowly found herself wandering away toward the city street while she waited for her name to be called to announce that the table for her was ready. She fidgeted with her hands a little, she was nervous. The woman was supposed to be meeting the famed American professor, Dr. Indiana Jones to try and convince him to help her and her college with a predicament they had reached in their hunt for antiquities. Beatrice brushed a strange bright red hair out of her face as she paced down the sidewalk of the street, peeking into the shop's windows at what they were selling.

She paused for a moment in front of one of the shops. It was a tiny building with peeling gray paint, the title 'Chapeau' was written in gold, illuminated text above the store windows. But what caught her eye was the gorgeous looking pale-green hat displayed on one of the mannequins. It was crowned with a gold organza gold ribbon that strangely complimented the green color. Gold, white and sage green feathers stuck out in a uniform angle where the ribbon tied off into a large bow. A smile came to her lips, she really liked that hat. However, she had no money for small pleasures upon her; she had only brought enough for the dinner and wound not risk not having enough to pay for both her and Dr. Jones. That would be rather embarrassing and after an incident like that she could only imagine that Dr. Jones would not want to help them.

She paced to the street corner and then quickly made her way back to the entrance of the restaurant, paranoid that she might have missed the call. As she was walking back, Beatrice heard a loud crash come from a side alleyway that ran parallel to the restaurant. Her attention was quickly drawn to it; it was pitch black up until a single point where a square of golden light flooded out onto the cobblestone and started clawing its way up the wall. A door had probably opened from the kitchen or some other servant's room.

However, her eye was quickly drawn to what was outlined by the patch of light on the ground. Lying, twisted, was a man; his silver hair glistened in the glow emitted from the open door and his once spotless gray suit got smudged with dirt. Beatrice squinted and started coming toward him to get a closer look. He did not fit the normal requirements of someone who usually ended up in a Parisian alleyway. He did not appear to be a drunken transient or some sort of failed thief, the man most definitely did not look like any sort of low-life. She tilted her head; perhaps he worked for the restaurant and had gotten into some sort of squabble with the management. Or perhaps he was just a normal civilian, what had he done to get evicted like that.

He screamed a few rather well chosen obscenities back over his shoulder at those who had threw them out. Beatrice jumped again as another object was thrown out the door. The man, instinctively, covered his head as it flew over him. It smashed against the opposite wall and tumbled to the ground beside him. Either Beatrice's eyes were playing tricks on her or it was reality, but he appeared to have had some sort of chair thrown at him. She suddenly caught glimpse of the light glittering off something spinning. Around and around, the strange wheel-like on the chair went; that was when it registered for Beatrice that the object was not merely a chair, but a wheelchair. This man was lame.

She felt herself drawn to the situation as the square of golden light disappeared signifying that the door to the restaurant was closed. The man groped around in the darkness trying to find his chair, his means of mobility. He was seething, obviously his temper was high for she caught sight of his red face and angered expression. He once again cursed back as the door slid closed and was audibly locked from the inside. There was, however, one thing that he said that caught Beatrice's attention almost instantaneously.

"Dr. Jones!" He cried in fiery rage, the rest of his words were lost for they seemed to be in another language.

Dr. Jones? Could this man perhaps know the famed American archeologist? Beatrice's eyes widened at the possibility. One thing was for certain, though, the professor was here, at the restaurant, waiting for her. He had kept their appointment and had kept his promise to meet her. Had she not been caught in this odd situation she might have broke into a smile of elation, but she did not. The woman only stared at the man writhing on the ground in front of her. How on earth did he know Dr. Jones? The woman was quite sure that the American would choose his acquaintances more carefully. She came up next to the man her features

"Monsieur?" she asked, her voice full of concern as she kneeled down next to him, not paying attention to the fact that she had gotten dirt on her dress where her knees where. "Est-ce que tu veux aider?" she asked him.

The man jumped and quickly turned around to face her, his anger receding slightly. She caught sight of the most horrid disfiguration of the left side of his face. The woman pulled back, but only for a moment, in shock for she had not expected to see that. Terrible, deep scars laced their way over his features and almost down t his neck, at first she was surprised, but then she was suddenly touched by pity. Her expression was not hard as she brought herself back to look directly into his face. Then she saw his blue eyes, icy blue and piercing; she felt as though he was seeing right through her.

"Est-ce que tu veux aider?" she repeated.

His face was blank; perhaps he did not speak French. He looked northern European, perhaps he only spoke German. Sadly, she did not speak any other languages other than French and English; maybe he knew English and they could reach some sort of middle ground.

"Would like help, Monsieur?" She translated her last sentence.

His face lit with comprehension, he understood her. She felt relieved for a moment, now language would not be an inhabitance and road-block to them.

"Can jou hand me zat chair?" he said to her as he gestured toward the over-turned seat.

He spoke with a very heavy accent. He was of Germanic origins, just as she had suspected and she instantly became wary of him. Beatrice disliked assuming about people before she actually had a chance to get to know them, but as of lately Germany had not been the friendliest of countries. She was not stupid, she had friends in high places and she had overheard classified information on how the number of spies of German make had increased over the last year. However, he was the one that needed help and she had offered it, thus binding her to give it. Beatrice got up and went over to the wheel-chair. It was made of dark wood with crudely polished steel rimmed wheels. She put it back right way up and wheeled it back over to the man, who was trying to lift himself off the ground.

She could only assume that he was just as wary of her. Even though she was only a woman dressed in the daintiest of dresses did not mean anything in his mind. She could feel his eyes watching her as she up righted the chair. It occurred to her that not many normal citizens would trouble themselves with the disabled unless they wanted something to bargain with, she was doing it out of her own free will and nature. Beatrice could sense the man was having none of it. She turned back around to find him trying to get over to his chair and doing a poor job of it.

"Here…" she said softly as she took his left arm.

She dropped it in surprise when, instead of feeling the soft flesh of a normal arm, she felt what seemed to be a wood stump where the lower half of his arm should have been. The man saw her shock at his deformity and quickly drew his arm back to his chest away from her. Beatrice saw that he had no left hand; instead it had been replaced by a rather crude metal prong. Where did he get that from? She was sure that modern doctoring in limb replacement was far more advanced than the model that he was sporting. Beatrice, however, was not going to ask him where he had come by that thing that would probably be more suited for a meat butcher than for use as a replacement limb.

"Sank jou foor jour help…" he said, his voice gruff and unfeeling. Beatrice felt bad that she had upset him about his arm, she was sure that he got that same reaction from plenty of other people and the last thing he needed was one more idiot gaping at him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you…" the woman apologized.

The man did not respond to her words. He merely took a hold of the chair's arm and tried to flounder his way on to it with his useless legs. The wooden chair started sliding out from underneath him for he was trying to get back on it from a very bad angle, he lashed out with his other arm to try and prevent the chair from flipping over on top of him. She quickly got up from the ground and took hold of the wheel chair to steady it for the man. He looked to her once again, it appeared as though he was rethinking the situation and was maybe going to accept her help more readily.

"Vat do jou vant from me?" he asked, his voice was gave as his blue eyes narrowed.

Beatrice looked away as they locked with hers. "Nothing…" she said in all sincerity, "Can I not be a kind soul to someone who needs it?"

The man turned away from her for a moment before he continued, "Nobody does something foor nozing…" he murmured, as he tried, once again, to get up onto the chair. It seemed as if it was going to hold for a moment, but then it buckled and slid back. Beatrice caught him around the shoulder preventing him from falling face first onto the ground. His face wore an expression of surprise, probably from the sudden disappearance of the chair from his hands.

"I am sorry to disappoint you…" she said in a gentle voice as she looked him right in the face.

After nearly a minutes pause he let out a long sigh that reflected all of his emotion and troubles. Beatrice offered her hand to help him and he took it. She first had to readjust the seat, but in a few moments and with a single good pull, she helped him get onto the chair. The man's fake hand dug into her arm, but it was not enough to cause her any sort of excruciating pain. Once he was in the chair, he quickly twisted his body around to a seated position.

"Sank joo…" he repeated, this time with far more sincerity. The man took hold of the wheels and steered himself toward the open street. He tried to turn, but was having trouble getting his clawed left hand around the rungs of the wheels in the dark. He tried twice, but only managed in creating a lout metallic clag, as his fake hand slid off. Beatrice, taking one last chance to help with poor man quickly took hold of the back of the chair; she gave one shove of her own weight against it which started it rolling. She pushed him out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk; the streetlights now allowed the man to solve his problem with his wheels and his left hand.

"You are welcome, monsieur…" she said with a weak smile.

Her own level of English was still very rudimentary, and she could sense that he was far more fluent in the language than she was. He bowed his head to her. The man then turned his wheelchair away from her and started to roll away. Beatrice tilted her head, why did she still feel like she had done nothing to aid this man? She did not realize that she kept on staring. The man in the wheelchair suddenly stopped on the street; he turned himself slowly back around to face the woman, a sad look upon his face. He must have felt her eyes burning into the back of him and he must have felt the sad look that she had been giving him. Their eyes met, he put a hand to the left side of his face and felt the long jagged scar that ran across his visage.

"Please…" he said to her in a deathly quite voice, "I don't vant jour pity…"

Beatrice dropped her eyes to the side walk: "I am very sorry, monsieur," she said.

The man gave her one more courteous nod of thanks before continuing on his way. Beatrice felt quite useless as she made her decision to continue on toward the restaurant. This night was turning out much stranger than she had expected, all she needed now was something to go horribly wrong with her meeting with Dr. Jones. As she came back to the red carpet which led inside to the restaurant she heard the stuffy head waiter call out, in a loud voice, "Mademoiselle Rousseau!" She was disappointed to find that is was the head maitre-d who was to be leading her to her table.

--

Indiana Jones lay on the ground rubbing his lower jaw as the two burly waiters dragged the German Colonel out of sight. The entire section of the restaurant was in an uproar, it was obvious that these types of things did not happen in this restaurant, ever, in this restaurant. Probably the most interesting thing that happens at this restaurant is the rare battle of words and wit between two posh Frenchmen who dislike each other. Mandy dashed over to his side, loose pieces of her jet black hair falling into her eyes as she ran; concern and despair filled her face as she dropped to the floor next to him.

"I'm so sorry, Indy… I… didn't think he would actually do it… I didn't mean for things to go that far" she apologized and fretted over her friend on the ground.

Jones gave her a sideways glance, "You didn't listen to my stories carefully enough, then," his tone of voice was soft; he did not mean to be angry at her. Even though it was partly her fault that he had nearly gotten the life beat out of him this early in the evening, there was the small glimmer of satisfaction within him that he had once again deprived the German colonel of his blood. Chaos still ensued around the place, waiters tried to get some of the disgruntled ladies calm back down from the sudden outburst of fighting that had occurred across the room. Some of the servers who were close enough to were the battle scene had happened were tossing Jones and Mandy all kinds of dirty looks, it was clear that if the two did not leave soon they were to be tossed out like the ex-colonel was a few moments earlier.

The American professor slowly stood up, still rubbing his jaw. He had to admit, even though Vogel was in a wheel chair, he had lost none of his punching power over the last six months. "Mandy," Jones muttered as he looked to girl at his side and then hastily back to the waiters, "Lets get the heck outta here."

"I couldn't agree more…" Mandy said as they both conspicuously started edging to the door, not hoping to draw any more attention then they already had from the restaurant's clients or its staff. Both Indy and Mandy tried as best they could in the heat of the moment to bring their minds from the events that had just occurred and that were getting them expelled from the buildings premises. The American professor really hoped that none of those events ever came back to haunt him later. He paused, that was his luck now, and he had only recently had the privilege of having someone he thought had perished come back from the dead. Perhaps he would be seeing Belloq or even that Toht character sooner or later again.

The two finally scooted out of the restaurant out into the cooler night air. Mandy had not said much more after her previous sentence, that was unusual and it was obvious she felt guilty for what had happened. Indy had been in many other situations that were far worse than the one he had just been a part of, his most recent scuffle had been nothing more than a mere friendly nudge compared to some of the other fights he had ever been in. "I'm fine, alright?" Jones said to her, it made him concerned that the girl wasn't talking his ear off.

"It just…" she squeaked, her voice almost a whisper, "He could have killed you…" her expression ashamed.

"Its nothing… he tried killing me before and he failed. Now he can't use his legs, he couldn't have gotten me if he tried." Indy said in a sarcastic matter-of-factly tone.

The two of them slowly passed by the outer most column of the building's architecture, passing several people trying to get into the posh French restaurant. Mandy's expression was unchanged as she fell silent even though Indy's explanation was quite valid. He had everything under control in the fight with the ex-colonel Vogel; it was pure luck that the German had gotten the upper hand, but Indy would have figured a way out before anything happened to him sooner or later.

"But Dr. Jones…" The girl tried to go on about her concerns, but Indy stopped her.

"It's over, alright…" The American professor said sternly.

He meant to say more, but he was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a soft voice behind him. "Dr. Jones?" it was thick with a French accent, but it held a distinctive smoothness about it. He turned around to see a woman with flaming red hair and pale ivory skin. She wore a pale purple dress that glowed in the light of the restaurants windows. Indiana raised an eyebrow, Mandy merely blinked a few times.

"That's right," he said in a suave tone.

The woman relaxed visibly, "Thank goodness. I was afraid that I might have been too late to meet you here." Both Mandy and Jones looked at each other and then glanced back at the French woman in front of them. Indy didn't recognize her, and neither did Mandy. The woman noticed their looks. She quickly jumped in where her introduction, "I am Doctor Beatrice Rousseau…" as she stated her name her voice seemed to trail off and get quieter at then end. So this was the person that Indy had come to the restaurant, to France, to meet and discuss the discovery of some artifact. Doctor Rousseau had not been very detailed on the discovery probably for secrecy just in case the letter came into the wrong hands instead of getting to Indiana Jones. She put her hands together as she looked to the American with emerald green eyes.

"Pleased to meet you, mademoiselle," The pain in Jones' jaw seemed to disappear.

Mandy jumped in as soon as she felt that Jones was going into his 'impress the ladies' mode. "Hello," she said as she quickly put herself in between the American and the French-woman. "I'm Mandy… Dr. Jones' aide." She gave a smart smile and wore an expression of great importance on her face.

"Enchate." Beatrice curtsied to the girl, oblivious to what was going and why she was acting that way.

Mandy's expression faltered, she did not know a droplet of French so Rousseau's greeting went right over her head. She turned back to Jones and gave him a sheepish look, wondering if he knew what the French archeologist meant. She assumed that Indiana, being the well traveled man that he was, knew bits and pieces of just about every language on the face of the earth. The American leaned in towards the girl and whispered in her ear, "she says' she's pleased to meet you too." Mandy face lit with comprehension.

"Why were you leaving so quickly?" Rousseau asked in a timid voice.

"Uh… well you see…" Indy could not explain fully without going into the entire story, so he thought up something else that might constitute a reason for them to be expelled from the place. "We got in trouble with the management… I guess I must have mispronounced something."

Beatrice's featured became full of alarm, "I could go and sort it out," she offered.

"Thank you for that, Doctor." Jones cut her off quickly, "But I don't think there is any repairing this one," He did not want this ordeal to go much farther than it already had so he tried to divert once again. The American had noticed a small café on the corner when he and Mandy had first gotten to the restaurant and his mind now thought of it again. "Can I buy you a coffee?"

Beatrice was taken aback; the pompous head maitre-d who was supposed to be leading her to her table had long since disappeared into the building, not aware that she had stopped to talk with the American Professor. "Are you sure, I can help?"

"Don't worry, we did not order anything…" Jones said as the three of them finally left the place's premise.

--

"Do you know what the Scepter of Amon-Ra is, Dr. Jones?" Rousseau asked as she sipped the steaming hot tea in the delicate china cups.

The three had come into the café and were seated almost immediately, this was a step up from the restaurant were many had to mull around and wait for their place to be 'prepared' for them before they sat down. They had opted to sit outside under the glow of the lamps that were hung on poles scattered around the café's patio. The tables and chairs were both made of wrought iron, painted black and were twisted and turned into fanciful designs resembling those of a creeping vine. The patio held about ten tables each paired with two to three chairs depending how closely they were positioned to the actual street, the closer they were the less chairs they had. Indy, Mandy and Beatrice sat at a table that was nestled between the wall of the building and the fence that blocked off the patio from the street.

"I've come in contact with the Staff of Ra in my travels." The professor stated. Mandy nodded in agreement for she could not speak because she was busy munching on a croissant. "I assume their not the same thing."

Beatrice shook her head, "Non, they are not." She put the cup back on the saucer and spun the handle away from her before crossing her arms on the table. "The Scepter of Amon has far greater purposes than the Staff was ever intended for."

"Continue," Jones said as he leaned in to the table, any mention of antiquities made him interested.

"The scepter has been lost ever since the 24th dynasty, but I and a fellow collogue recently stumbled upon a part of a map that has bits of hieroglyphics on it that mention, in great detail, the scepter." She paused as she took a breath. "They even start to mention a location, but then the lines are cut off, the rest of the map is missing and we have no indication of where the rest of it is." Even now Mandy was starting to get interested in what the French woman had to say.

"You know the origins of the Scepter?" Jones asked.

The French Doctor moved her head up and down. "In the twilight of the 22nd Dynasty, a Pharaoh by the name of Shoshenq the fifth, son of Pami, came to the throne of lower Egypt. At this point, Lower and Upper Egypt were slowly breaking apart and the split was becoming more and more evident the more days that passed. It was also during this time that the god Amun and the god Ra became one in the people's minds and they had worshipped this joint god for nearly a century, but as soon as Shoshenq came to power the cult of Osiris felt it was their time to strike. Kemenwati was the occult leader of the Osiris believers and he was a blood-thirsty man. He was obsessed with using war, conflict, and blood-spill in his quest to…" Beatrice paused as she searched for the right words to continue her story with. "Resurrect the god of the underworld. Religious skirmishes broke out throughout the kingdom as more and more people turned from the Sun god to the god of the underworld in this time or dissention and split in ancient Egypt. Religious skirmishes broke out throughout the empire and the people lived in terror of Kemenwati and his Osiris sect."

"So some guy just come up and decides he's going to take over Egypt and try to bring back the god of the dead?" Mandy suddenly chirped in.

"Yes," Beatrice looked to Jones who had been listening intently to her story and explanation about the pre-history to the scepter.

"It was at this time that Shoshenq took matters into his own hands. He pulled back all military he had sent out, and told all followers of Ra to cease fighting with the Osiris sect members. He made a proclamation that the Heretics will pay most dearly for their actions against the sun god and the people of Egypt. He consulted his most trusted priestess, by the name of Khepri, for help on defeating this new found threat to the Egyptian empire. She merely told him to protect those he could and she would take care of the rest. According to legend, that night Khepri called upon the great Amon-Ra himself to help defend her homeland and the god supposedly was the one who gave her the scepter. But Khepri paid a great price, she sold herself, soul and being, to the sun god in return for the scepter; her life was a price for the protection of her people."

Beatrice paused in her story to take a sip of tea, it was here that Mandy chimed in once again "She sold her soul, was it worth it? Did the scepter do what it was meant for?"

Rousseau tilted her head as she responded, "For the most part, it was everything that Shoshenq wanted. Kemenwati's occult was defeated and dismembered and he was to be buried alive along side his three most trusted sect members. When they put him in the sarcophagus they defiled his name, forever damming his spirit according to Egyptian mythology. People still say that Kemenwati's ghost still haunts the Valley of the Kings searching for the ones who did this too him. But anyway, the scepter became the most prized processions of Shoshenq. He found it had the power to heal and to bring prosperity and good fortune to the one who held it. Because of this, Lower Egypt prospered for nearly twenty more years. Khepri often came to the pharaoh, though, and told him to be cautious with what he did with the scepter. Because it supposedly was a gift from the gods, we mortals could not grasp what its full potential was or even dream to wield its full power. Shoshenq did not listen to his priestess, and thirty years later he was being prepared for his burial. The pharaoh had died in the night leaving the scepter to the priestess…"

That was where the archeologist faltered. Jones leaned in toward the French-woman, 'Is something wrong?" he asked her.

"That is when the history of the scepter just… ends. No one is really sure what happed to Khepri or the scepter after Shoshenq died and was buried. I and a few others like to believe the theory that she followed her own advice and was buried along side her pharaoh with the scepter in order to hide its power away from humanity. She would still be there, in the tomb with her leader, undisturbed to this very day." After she finished her story she turned her green eyes to the American professor, "Dr. Jones, will you help us locate this tomb and in turn locate the scepter and bring it back to the surface, back to humanity."

"I haven't had much faith in humanity over the last few months," Indiana said under his breath. After all his run-ins with the 'bad guys' he had to say that humanity was slowly degrading itself.

"But just think, Dr. Jones, the power of the ancient world… just think of bringing that knowledge back into the history books." Beatrice was practically pleading to Jones as she put on a hopeful smile.

Mandy just turned and looked to Indy; she had to admit that she was interested. She always had liked 'other-worldly' sort of things and all of Jones' stories had only made her long to see what it would be like to finally have the chance to go pursue one of these objects and relics. "Indy?" now Mandy had to find herself on Beatrice's side of this conversation.

Jones let out a laugh of defeat. Oh yes, he was interested, but something told him that this was all just a fairy-tale. He tried to think of something to say, some words of wisdom or greater cunning that would allow him to bring his head back down from the clouds, but he could come up with nothing. "I guess I have no real choice…" he said as a crooked smile played across his features, "Well, Miss Rousseau, I accept your proposal."

Beatrice's features lit up. "Now," Indy continued, "About the map that you spoke of…"


End file.
